


A Day of Delinquency (Little Yellow Tags: Part 6)

by lurkdusoleil



Series: Little Yellow Tags [8]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Marijuana, Motorcycles, Skank!Blaine, Skank!Kurt, Smoking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:09:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lurkdusoleil/pseuds/lurkdusoleil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt wants to see how the other side lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day of Delinquency (Little Yellow Tags: Part 6)

**Author's Note:**

> Do not try anything in this fic without extensive research and knowledge of the acts you would be committing. And should you try them, I bear no liability for. Includes cigarette smoking, pot smoking, irresponsible tattooing, and riding of motorcycles without helmets. Further warnings include mentions of depression and anxiety.

“Some days I wish I could just...remove my head.”

Blaine looks confused. Not that Kurt blames him--he’d just strode into Blaine’s bedroom and announced it with no explanation.

“I think I’d be pretty upset if you got decapitated, babe,” he says, blinking.

“No, I mean--” Kurt drops his bag and sits on the edge of the bed, not looking over at Blaine where he lies on his stomach, flipping through a book for English. “I just want to stop thinking. And I don’t mean letting you take it away during our...sessions--”

“Scenes?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Kurt concedes. He hates the word, sometimes--it makes it feel like a performance, but it’s the only place he  doesn’t perform, act his way through. “I mean I want to be able to walk around and not have my head screaming at me about everything.”

“Is this about your NYADA audition?”

“It’s about everything, Blaine.” Kurt falls back on the bed, stares up at the smooth expanse of the ceiling. “Between Glee and the audition and school and saving up money and my dad’s schedule now--it’s just so much sometimes. I’m starting to feel like...before. Like last year.”

Kurt knows that’s going to concern Blaine. They’ve talked about it a lot since they started their honesty policy, since they fell into the nuances of their relationship. Blaine knows that Kurt can fall into a hole, that he starts feeling negative and it just becomes a downward spiral. And usually, he can grab Kurt and pull him back up, can take the control away from Kurt when it becomes too much, can let him remove the mask and the pretty, competent facade, can let him be vulnerable in a way he needs to feel healed again. But lately, it feels like the burden doesn’t get lighter, he doesn’t get stronger--it’s a temporary solution, and he just has to go right back to holding it up again.

“Thank you for telling me,” Blaine says, and he’s sitting up, looking down at Kurt lovingly, grabbing his hand and holding it tight. Connecting. “I know that must have been hard to admit.”

Kurt feels the prickle of tears in his eyes and sniffs them back. Sometimes he hates that with just a few sympathetic words, just a little bit of recognition for the struggle he goes through, Blaine can have him stripped and raw like this.

“I just wish I knew your secret,” Kurt says. “How you can just...not care.”

“Practice,” Blaine replies simply. “I’ve been doing this Skank thing for a long time. It kind of comes with the territory. But you know it’s just as much an act as anything else I could’ve done.”

“Yeah,” Kurt murmurs. “But still. It must be nice to at least pretend you don’t care. I have to care so much.”

Blaine smiles.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy being a Skank, though,” he says, scooting up and laying down next to Kurt, facing him, propping his head up on his arm and drawing the fingers of the other up Kurt’s bicep. “We’ll find something--”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Kurt pauses in the tense air that follows, a little nervous of looking Blaine in the eye. He just got petulant over Blaine thinking he couldn’t be a Skank. It wasn’t even a challenge, but all of a sudden Kurt wants to do it--he wants to prove to Blaine that he can be whatever he wants to be. He doesn’t have to be perfect Kurt Hummel, composed and cool and in charge of everything. And he can’t figure out why--Blaine  knows the real him, he knows Kurt isn’t the person that he is at school. But it’s a strong feeling, and if he’s learned anything with Blaine, it’s not to discount the things he feels.

When he does look up at Blaine, he only sees a calm, searching look.

“What are you saying, Kurt?”

Kurt bites his lip and considers.

“I’m not saying I want to convert completely,” he begins, slow and careful, choosing his words deliberately. “But maybe...maybe I  could wear someone else’s head for a day. Just...to see what it’s like.”

“You want a day where you can be me.”

“Well, not you specifically,” Kurt says lightly. “That would be weird. But I could try out your methods.”

Blaine looks highly amused, but he doesn’t laugh. He just grins, wide and happy and loving.

“I think you’re perfect the way you are,” he says, leaning in and kissing Kurt’s jaw. “But if you want to see how the other side lives, I think we could manage that.”

Kurt sighs and settles further into the bed, relaxing. The idea excites him, and he already feels lighter.

“Okay.”

\--

They agree that Blaine will plan everything, being the expert. Kurt can suggest things, can request things, but Blaine will be in charge of making it happen. After all, it is for Kurt--even though Kurt has several days during the week where he questions his sanity over the whole thing.

But he can’t back out now. Not just because of his pride, but because he needs to  know .

He gets his father’s permission to stay with Blaine for the weekend--he reasons calmly that he’ll be living like that in New York soon anyway, and promises to call and check in and not do anything crazy, though he’s got a suspicion that the last part is a lie. Either way, Burt agrees, and Kurt silently thanks Blaine for making such a good impression on his father despite the initial reaction. And that’s it--he tells his friends he has plans with Blaine, and they leave it at that. Blaine’s never kept Kurt from his friends, Kurt’s never abandoned them for his boyfriend. And Kurt thinks maybe, just maybe, their relationship is the kind that’s built to last.

And with those moments of realization, he starts to get very excited about the whole thing. He’ll get to see things from Blaine’s point of view, get to know him even better. He can have a day where the rules of the world don’t matter, where society and morals can be put on a back burner, and he can just live for what he wants in the moment, make decisions on the fly and do something a little crazy. He’s a teenager, he should be able to do this.

When he wakes up on Saturday morning, he’s alone in Blaine’s bed, and there’s a note on Blaine’s pillow.

I’ll be back. -B

It’s stunningly unhelpful, but Kurt just shakes his head and sighs. Blaine’s probably out getting things ready last-minute.

Kurt just gets out of the shower by the time Blaine is home, and Blaine has a bag from Kurt’s own room with him.

“Good, you’re up,” he says. “Don’t dry your hair.”

Kurt hitches the towel around his hips and tilts his head.

“Why not?”

Blaine reaches into the bag and pulls out a little tube.

“Because you’re getting highlights,” he announces, a mischievous smile on his face.

Kurt glares.

“It’s temporary, right?”

“Of course,” Blaine replies easily. “Come on, bathroom. Let’s get it in while your hair’s still damp.”

Blaine applies the gel, hiding the tube so Kurt can’t see the color, laughing when Kurt grumbles and threatens him with bodily harm should the color be heinous. But soon enough, Blaine is styling his hair just how Kurt likes it, knowledgeable from hours of watching Kurt get ready with what Kurt considers weird curiosity, and he’s grinning like an idiot, in a way he only does with Kurt.

“Okay,” he says, a laugh on the edge of his voice that makes Kurt nervous. “Are you ready?”

“Does it look awful?” Kurt asks immediately. “I don’t like that grin.”

“You look awesome, honey,” Blaine says. “Turn around and see.”

Kurt turns to the mirror, and his jaw drops.

He looks  awesome .

Blaine picked a color Kurt wouldn’t have gone for off the bat. It’s a deep, vibrant green, threaded through a large chunk right at the front, the part he usually sweeps up. The rest of his hair is its normal chestnut, contrasting against the green beautifully. His eyes, though, look  insane . Normally they’re blue at first glance, and only upon closer inspection can the other colors be seen. But now they  pop , green and blue and hints of gold and silver, and Kurt’s amazed by it.

“This is crazy,” he breathes, and Blaine grins, running his hands over Kurt’s bare shoulders.

“Come on, it’ll look even better with the rest of your outfit.”

\--

Kurt cannot stop looking at himself in the mirror. Blaine only bought one extra item of clothing, and the rest came from his own closet. But he looks like a  Skank .

He’s wearing his LIKES BOYS t-shirt from last year’s Born This Way performance, tight across his chest and shoulders and around his arms. His hooded suspenders are over that, the hood pulled up to cover most of his hair but the green in front, which is swept up dramatically. They’re hooked onto his leather shorts, and his legs are covered by Blaine’s purchase, green tights in the same color as his hair, ripped artfully and so much that Kurt’s surprised they don’t fall apart. Finally, his bright yellow foxtail is hooked to his hip, and he’s wearing his studded boots with the laces loose. He looks a little ridiculous, but...he also looks  hot . 

Blaine applied eyeliner and gave him silly magnetic jewelry to wear as piercings, and he’s got fake gauges on his ears, simple black with a yellow dot in the center, and a ring for his lip, settled on the corner and pinching just a little bit. He looks like he just doesn’t care, and he realizes that his posture has adjusted to the outfit and his expression, too.

“You look the part,” Blaine says, brushing his shoulders and peering at him intensely in the mirror. Kurt smirks at him.

“Well, let’s get me out so I can act the part, too,” he suggests. “What’s my first act of delinquency?”

\--

Kurt would have once questioned why they ended up at the playground at the elementary school, but not now that he knows Blaine. Normally the park would have kids playing on it, but on the weekend, the school technically closes. That doesn’t stop the Skanks from invading it in its empty time, smoking and hanging out on the various playthings.

And there they are. Quinn is reclining easily at the bottom of a slide, against which Ronnie leans casually. Sheila and Mack are sitting sprawled on top of the monkey bars, their legs dangling between them and swinging precariously.

“Ladies,” Blaine says, careful to put an ironic tone in his voice.

The girls react to Kurt’s look when they see it. Quinn outright laughs, throwing her head back and losing it after she looks him over. Ronnie whistles, and the other girls nod approvingly.

“You look good, Hummel,” Ronnie says. “You ever want to flip, I’m available.”

Blaine raises an eyebrow, but Kurt decides to handle it. If it were Mercedes or Tina, he’d reply with a quick assertion that as beautiful as she is, his preferences lie in other areas. But these are Skanks--and he’s pretending to be one of them today.

“Unless you’ve got a cock, I’m not interested,” he shoots back, and Ronnie chuckles. Kurt smiles to himself, pleased.

“Cocks can be bought, hot stuff,” she replies with a wink.

“Okay, enough hitting on Hummel,” Quinn drawls, sitting up and puffing at her cigarette. “What the hell is going on.”

Blaine pulls out his pack of cigarettes and lights one up, catching Kurt’s eye and doing it in a slow, deliberate way that makes Kurt pay special attention. When he puffs out the first bit of smoke, he turns back to Quinn.

“Kurt’s seeing how the other side lives,” he explains.

“Is that why you wanted me to bring my bike?” Mack asks with a snort.

“Bike?”

Kurt blinks, suddenly nervous again, but Blaine waves him off.

“Take it easy,” he says, walking toward the swings. He sits on one, and nods to the other, which Kurt takes. “One thing at a time. You want a regular, or a clove?”

He holds up his cigarette, and Kurt stares at it. Blaine’s really showing him everything.

He considers. Blaine is the only one who knows it, but Kurt actually really likes the smell and taste of cigarettes, at least the remnants of it on Blaine’s body. He’s refused to try them directly, fearful for his voice and health, but he can’t help but find the act of smoking them and the sensual experience of it sexy, despite all the media ads about cancer patients and how ugly and uncool it is. It just appeals to him, aesthetically--he can’t help it.

But now he can have one. Just one--he promises himself, it’s just to try, he’ll never touch another, even if he has to chew nicotine gum, and can he get addicted from just one?

“Regular,” he says. The clove ones are delicious on Blaine’s lips, when he does smoke them, sharp and spicy and absolutely incredible, but Blaine complains about them when he does smoke them, talking about how they’re harder to smoke and take longer to finish.

Blaine hands one over and then flicks his light.

“Inhale to light it, but don’t inhale fully at first,” he says. “Just pull it into your mouth and release it from there, don’t pull it into your lungs till you’re used to it.”

Kurt does as he’s told, grimacing at the strength of the bitter heat that fills his mouth. He puffs out the smoke uncomfortably, earning laughs from the other Skanks.

“Careful now,” Quinn teases, and Kurt makes a face at her.

“Take a few puffs,” Blaine instructs. “Not too deep, though, okay? If you start to feel a sting like you aren’t getting enough air, kind of at the bottom of your lungs, you’re going too far, okay?”

Kurt pulls the smoke into his mouth again before inhaling slowly. It feels... good . Relaxing, almost, to slow down his breathing like that, to focus on it. It’s almost like he does when he’s preparing to sing, that first pull in, but he starts to feel that sting that Blaine described, almost like he can feel the outline of his lungs in his chest. He breathes out, and a pretty stream of steel blue smoke flows out from between his lips.

“There you go,” Blaine encourages, staring at Kurt’s mouth. And that’s something they’ll revisit later, Kurt thinks, smirking as he takes another drag.

The taste gets weaker as the cigarette shortens, the ash tapping off the side when he flicks his fingers gently, copying Blaine’s movements. And his blood feels a little bit like it’s buzzing, and he realizes he’s getting a nicotine rush. He panics briefly, but Blaine’s hand lands on his thigh.

“Calm down,” he says in a low voice, one that doesn’t carry to the others. “One cigarette isn’t going to make you an addict. You might get a little bit of withdrawal, but it won’t be nearly as bad as an actual smoker.”

Kurt nods, calming. It really does feel amazing, though, the little bit of burn, the rush of his blood, the bit of light-headedness, the taste and the smell and the look of the smoke. He can’t make it a habit, but just the one is a treat.

“You almost ready?” Mack calls, when Kurt gets close to the end. He looks up and blinks, blowing out one last breath, before he copies Blaine’s movements again, pinching out the ash at the end and stomping it out before handing the butt over, both of which are slipped onto Blaine’s pocket to be discarded later. It’s a little courtesy, but Kurt smiles at it, and that Blaine doesn’t just chuck the butt down like the other Skanks do.

“Come on,” Blaine says.

“I’m not getting on a bike with her, Blaine,” Kurt hisses, clutching Blaine’s arm as they all head to the parking lot. “She’s nuts.”

“You won’t be getting on the bike with  her ,” Blaine promises. “Just wait.”

They approach a bike--a slightly battered thing, probably older, though Kurt doesn’t know bikes like he would know a car. His father doesn’t really work on them, after all. All he can tell is that it’s chrome and black, the front tire is balding a little, and it looks like...like a motorcycle. 

“It’s got a smaller engine,” Blaine says, “so it won’t pack a lot of punch. It’s a good motorcycle for beginners. So...you ready to learn?”

“Are you serious?” Kurt asks. Blaine nods, catching the keys that Mack throws at him.

“Don’t fuck it up,” she snaps, and she and the other skanks stand aside, leaning against the fence between the lot and the playground.

Blaine hops on the bike and leans it up, kicking up the stand and settling it between his legs easily. He starts it, and it roars to life. He looks...ridiculously sexy, straddling the metal and leather, his hands grasping the handles, twisting the throttle to rev the engine.

“Hop on, gorgeous. Tuck in your laces first, though.”

Kurt does as Blaine says and then tentatively mounts the bike, slipping onto the little bit of seat behind Blaine. After a fumbling moment of figuring out where his feet go, he settles in, pressing up against Blaine’s back and locking his arms nervously around his stomach.

“Take it easy,” Blaine said, backing the bike up with short movements of his legs. “Just hold on, and lean with me--not too far, though. Just feel my body, and follow it.”

They don’t go too fast at first. Just little circles around the big lot, and through the little roads around the school, the bus loops, and back to the lot. It’s not too terrifying, and Kurt relaxes a bit, finding the pattern of Blaine’s body, leaning with him as he feels muscles shifting beneath his chest and hands.

They stop the bike in the lot again, and Blaine turns it off and kicks the stand down before turning back to Kurt.

“You ready to do it yourself?”

“You’re going to have to tell me how,” Kurt says hesitantly. But Blaine just grins as he hops off, offering up the seat to Kurt. He slides forward and lets himself feel the bike, leaning it up and holding the handles and testing the bounce of the seat.

“Okay, so here’s what you do--”

\--

Half an hour later, Blaine hops on the bike behind Kurt.

“Ready for the road?”

“Do not crash,” Mack calls out, stubbing out another cigarette beneath her toe. “I will fucking kill you if the bike didn’t do it already.”

Kurt seizes up and hisses a breath between his teeth. It hits him just how truly dangerous this is--a motorcycle, something his dad would  kill him for riding, let alone driving without even a permit. He could get hurt, he could die, Blaine could die--

“Stop thinking,” Blaine says. “Nothing bad is going to happen. I trust you.”

It’s those last three words that sink into Kurt. His heart slows and he wipes the sweat from his hands onto the tights before he grabs the handles again, revving the engine himself and smiling at the power in his hands. He can do this--Blaine won’t let him go wrong, he won’t let  himself go wrong. He has it under control.

He shifts the bike and puts on the throttle, and when he lets off the clutch, they slide smoothly forward.

“Good!” Blaine shouts, his voice just drifting over the whir of the engine and the increasing wind. Kurt grins, laughing wildly, out of pure joy, as they pick up speed on the road and  go .

Again, they don’t go far, but they go  faster . The roads are relatively abandoned around here, especially on a weekend, and they have good stretches of road with no one else just to feel the air and the movement of the bike and the feel of each other as they lean into turns. Blaine’s arms are tight around him, but not out of fear--he’s just holding Kurt close, his nose and lips resting on the back of Kurt’s neck, their hair flying in the breeze because they  didn’t wear helmets , and Kurt feels free and crazy and young and stupid and it’s actually kind of amazing.

They drive around for a while, finally heading back when Mack beckons them as they pass the school for one more lap. Kurt takes a deep breath, and then he lets the road have it.

They  fly . He picks up speed, going much faster than he probably should, but Blaine woops behind him and he feels helpless laughter float from his lips, and he feels like he could just do this forever, weaving around the road and speeding away, the world a blur around him, his ears filled with the hum of it, so loud it’s almost silent again, Blaine’s body clutched around his, and it’s a lot like when Blaine sends him  under , but it’s exhilerating and heart-pounding rather than floaty and relaxing. It’s the other side of the coin, and he feels  alive .

When they get back in, he’s still laughing, and when Blaine really hears him he starts laughing, too. The girls all roll their eyes, but Mack gives him a little smile as he dismounts and hands back the keys.

“Have fun, children?” she sneers, but she meets Kurt’s eyes and there’s a moment between them, a fellow-feeling that is foreign to them. He smiles at her and sighs.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly.

“Whatever,” she replies flippantly, and the moment is over, but Kurt just keeps grinning. Nothing can ruin this.

“Want another smoke after that?” Quinn offers, holding out one of her own. It’s a slimmer, longer thing, and Kurt eyes it speculatively. “You look like you just got fucked, and that requires tobacco.”

Kurt looks to Blaine, and Blaine just shrugs and waves a hand at him, a clear indication that he’s saying,  It’s your call .

Kurt takes the cigarette. He’s only got one day of this--he might as well enjoy it.

\--

After they stop for coffee and a light snack, their next stop is at a tattoo shop.

“Oh my god,” Kurt says. “What are we doing here.”

“Don’t worry,” Blaine says, brushing a fallen hair off Kurt’s face. “Just trust me.”

They get inside, and Kurt’s surprised. He’d expected something dirty, something seedy, with blaring rock music and concrete and metal and demons on the walls. But it’s actually kind of... classy . The floor is polished wood, the walls are a deep red, and there’s artwork up everywhere. It’s a little  alternative , but it’s tasteful, stuff Kurt wouldn’t be surprised to see in an art school gallery. There are even little plaques for the work, with prices. It’s for  sale .

Do people see tattoos as art? Kurt’s always seen it as a tool of rebellion, but the only people he knows with tattoos are Blaine and Quinn. And he doesn’t exactly prescribe to the culture himself. But this place, with just faint music playing in the background, music  he listens to , it...it feels like his kind of place.

“Are you my twelve o’clock?”

There’s a girl behind the counter, and she looks nothing like Kurt imagined--which was someone with black hair and piercings and tattoos everywhere and too much makeup and a bad attitude--basically, a Skank, but further along in life. But this girl is blonde, she only has a few tattoos that he can see, along her left forearm, and her ears have gauges that are even smaller than the fake ones he wears. And that’s it--she’s wearing a simple tshirt and jeans and some sneakers, comfortable and simply stylish.

“This is him,” Blaine says, patting Kurt’s shoulder and ending it with a squeeze.

“Cool,” the girl says. “I’m Jo.”

“I’m Blaine, and this is Kurt.”

“Hi, Kurt,” she says. “Any idea what you’re getting today?”

“Not a clue,” Kurt says wryly, and Blaine hangs his head and huffs out a laugh.

“You’re here to get a henna tattoo, Kurt,” Blaine explains. “It’s like paint--it’ll stain for a few weeks, and wash off. It’s temporary.”

“I see,” Kurt says. “And...what am I getting?”

“Entirely up to you,” Blaine says. “Do you have a book?”

“Take your pick,” Jo says, nodding to a bookshelf behind them. “I’ll get everything set up, get some paperwork ready for you, and then we’ll talk design when you’ve got an idea.”

Blaine leads Kurt back to the shelf. There are several binders there, instead of actual books, with labels on the side that read things like  Tribal  and  Religious and  Animals . Kurt plucks out one that says  Photorealistic and moves to the couch against the wall that Blaine is sitting in, thumbing through one that says  Pinups. 

“Are you going to get a hot babe on your arm or something?” Kurt teases, and Blaine gives him a look.

“I was actually just wondering if you’d pose for one,” he tosses back. “I think you’d look good like this, rather than that girl.”

He points to a picture of a curvy girl slightly bent with her ass perked out, wearing very tiny shorts that show the undercurve of her butt cheeks. She’s wearing tall, tall boots as well, but nothing on top, a little peek of nipple showing from the edge. She’s peering over her shoulder coyly, her little plump lips pouted. It’s cheesy as all hell, but it’s very well done.

“You want me to wear booty shorts and thigh-high boots and bend over for you?”

“That would be nice,” Blaine murmurs, smirking as he flips another page.

Kurt turns back to his own book and looks through. There are plenty of different tattoos in this one, faces and cars and cats and hands. But they all look insanely realistic, as though drawn from life. Kurt is drawn to one of a face, a girl wearing a half-mask with feathers all along the top edge, jewels on the bottom, her eyes peering off into the distance and her lips in a small smile. It’s stunning, and he runs a finger over it.

“Look,” he says to Blaine. Blaine peers over and smiles.

“You want a girl’s face on you?”

“No,” Kurt says. “But it’s really pretty.”

“Which one?” Jo asks, sauntering over, apparently done with preparations. She looks down. “Oh, yeah, I drew that right from a photo. Some guy wanted it in memory of his wife. Took forever to get the sketch right, but when I did, I knew. And the guy liked it, so wins all around.”

“I love the mask,” Kurt says, and something clicks in his head. “Blaine, didn’t you tell me you wanted masks?”

Blaine nods.

“Drama masks,” he corroborates. “I hadn’t decided on a design yet, though.”

Kurt considers for a long moment, and then he closes the book.

“Jo, could you give us a sec?”

Jo nods and walks off, back to a door in the back. She slips through and closes it, and Kurt turns to Blaine.

“What if I wanted a real tattoo?”

Blaine’s eyes go wide for a long moment before they narrow suspiciously.

“Kurt, what are you thinking?”

Kurt leans in and gives Blaine a gentle kiss.

“I was thinking that maybe we could both get a tattoo today. Maybe...one of us could have the tragedy face, and one could have the comedy.”

Blaine bites his lip.

“Kurt, getting a tattoo is a big deal,” he says carefully. “I know there are laser treatments and stuff, but for most people, tattoos  are permanent. You should take time to really think about it--”

“I think about  everything , Blaine,” Kurt snaps. “I think about what’s going to happen tomorrow, and the next day, and next week, and on and on and on. I have my entire future planned out. And whenever something doesn’t go according to plan, I make a new one, again to the last moment. I am sick of thinking things over. That’s what today is about. I want a tattoo. I want one with  you .”

“Kurt, it’s a bad idea--”

“Listen to the idea, first,” Kurt insists. “I think that we should get them on our hips. So that when we hold each other, when we’re together, they line up. One mask on you, one mask on me. We’ll design them ourselves, and they’ll  mean  something.”

“Kurt, as much as I like the romance of it, it’s kind of...bad mojo to get tattoos with someone you’re dating,” Blaine explains patiently. “You never know how a relationship is going to turn out. It might seem like we’ll be together forever, but we’re kids. You never know.”

“Well, in that case, you can always say that you’re just getting the half that’s yours on you, and whoever you end up with gets the other. You’re looking for the other half that matches.”

“So you want to leave behind a long string of broken, tattooed hearts?” Blaine prods gently, only half-serious.

Kurt looks around. Jo is still in the back. There’s no one inside, and no one walking around out front, from what he can see out the door. The blinds are drawn on the window. He crawls into Blaine’s lap, facing him, wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck.

“No,” he says gently, leaning his forehead against Blaine’s. “You’re it for me, Blaine Anderson. I told you that I plan out my entire life--and every plan I’ve made over the past few months has included you. I can’t see a future without you.”

“I love you,” Blaine murmurs, catching Kurt in a kiss. “I love you so much, Kurt.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt replies, kissing him back for a passionate moment before he pulls back, looking around nervously. They’re still in a public place in Ohio, after all.

“Let’s do it,” Blaine says with a sigh.

“Really?” Kurt squeaks. He grins and backs up off Blaine’s lap, bouncing on his toes, his hands fluttering around, not knowing what to do now. “Okay, we need to plan. Who gets what mask?”

Blaine laughs and looks up at Kurt like he hung the moon and sun and stars and probably the rest of the universe as well.

“Maybe we should each get our own mask,” Blaine suggests. He leans forward, holding out his hands, which Kurt takes, standing above him and stilling to hear what he has to say. “I’ll get tragedy, you’ll get comedy. My right hip, your left.”

“What should go around them?” Kurt asks, more to himself than to Blaine. “We should get some ideas, draw them a little--is there any paper around here--”

“I’ve got some.”

Jo opens the door and peeks out.

“There are great acoustics in here,” she says evenly, walking in with some paper and a few pencils. “Sorry. I can draw up the masks real quick, if you want to sketch out ideas for what to put with them?”

Kurt nods and starts sketching ideas all over the page--little things from their relationship, like Kurt’s leather cuffs, or the flowers he got Blaine for their six-month anniversary, right before Blaine met Burt, and right around the time Blaine got into NYU. Those make the cut, actually--Kurt likes the look of them next to a mask, and he and Blaine decide Blaine should have those on his mask, given that they meant something to him. His own proves to be a problem, though--nothing quite looks right.

“What sort of ideas do you have?” Jo asks, when they pause their brainstorming and just look helplessly at the paper, scored over with pencil drawings now.

“There are a few,” Kurt says. “I kind of wanted a blackbird, because of the song, you know? Blaine has his favorite song on him, I thought I could do something with mine. But it looks strange next to the mask. So did music notes, and the puzzle pieces. And I thought a thorn vine, but I want something more personal.”

“What’s this?” Jo asks, pointing to a sketch.

Kurt blushes. She’s pointing to the cuffs.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart,” she says immediately, seeing his head hanging. She holds up her wrist. “What do you think this is?”

The tattoos on her forearm are all made into a sort of half-sleeve, ending at her wrist and gliding up to her elbow at various lengths and shapes, giving it a firm base and a free growth. At the base is the image of a metal cuff, with the word  Precious .

“We’re not lifestyle,” she says, “but my boyfriend and I hang out in the scene sometimes. We’ve been together long enough that I felt comfortable getting this, and even if we don’t stick together, that’s still who I am inside.”

“See, Blaine?” Kurt says slyly. “What did I tell you.”

“Do you want cuffs, then?” Blaine asks, ending the teasing there with a look that makes Kurt shiver--he’s got his Dom face on, a certain steel behind his eyes that’s only softened by the fact that Kurt knows how much he loves him.

“No,” Kurt replies. “Something...like that, though, might be worth it. Like you said, Jo...it’s...it’s a part of me.”

Jo nods in agreement, pulling the sketch paper in. She starts doodling things quickly, her hand twitching with the scratch of the pencil.

“How about this?” she asks. She moves the paper over.

She incorporated the blackbird. Kurt doesn’t know how she managed it, but it looks  amazing . From behind the mask, a thin chain winds out, whisking back and forth twice before it ends in a little cuff that’s locked around the leg of a blackbird, who stands serene, wings folded, as though content to be held, almost like a falcon on the wrist of a falconer--free when it hunts, but home and safe with its person when it finishes its dirty work. Its little black head is almost rested against the edge of the mask Kurt had sketched out, as though waiting for contact.

Kurt loves it.

“Okay,” Jo says, when he says so. “Just give me a couple of minutes to design it out? I’m guessing you want them to sort of match up when you’re against each other, yeah? All right. Have a seat, I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

There’s a draft table in the back, in a nook by the door, and she sits at that, starting with a brand new piece of paper. Kurt and Blaine stay quiet while she works, holding hands and sitting pressed together, unable to stop smiling at each other. They’re  really doing this, they’re doing something silly and stupid and Kurt will be in  so much trouble if his dad finds out, and he’s never felt so young and happy.

There really is something in this kind of life, he thinks. He doesn’t think he could do it all the time--there’s something comforting in the life he leads, in his clothes and careful face and hair, in the presence he’s cultivated. He likes it, even though it can get really exhausting--but he thinks maybe he likes it more now that he has this on the side, as something he can turn to if the other gets to be too much. Selective rebellion--and won’t his father be happy, that it’s not an entire phase?

“Okay,” Jo says after about half an hour of waiting and flipping through her books and talking very, very quietly. She comes up to the counter and slaps down the drawing. “I had to keep peeking at you guys to get it right, and I’ll need you to sit very, very still as reference for the shading when I’m filling it in, but this is the basic outline.”

It’s...it’s perfect. Blaine’s mask actually looks like Blaine, or like a blank mask would look if it were cast from Blaine’s face. But the eyes are stylized and blacked in, sad and winged down. The mouth frowns--not a big, dramatic frown like the original masks, but a gentle one, as though the tragedy is internalized and only showing a bit. And that’s gorgeous, and very like Blaine--he wears this negative mask, but it’s not drastic. And Jo must have picked up the mask thing, too, because she added little sunburst lines from the eye closes to the other mask, as though the mask were secretly happy. Three roses border the far side of the mask, along the outline of Blaine’s ¾ profile, and Jo explains that two will be dark and one shaded light, like Kurt had sloppily done on his own sketch sheet.

In contrast, Kurt’s mask is happy--the eyes winged up, the smile faint and knowing, shaped just like Kurt’s--but there are little simple teardrops from the far eye, the same side as Blaine’s, and Kurt grins widely. The chain is delicate and simple, winding just like the sketch, and the little bird is big enough to be able to include a little detail, but it’s not the focus of the piece.

But it’s the free eyes, the one on each of them without the tears or sunburst, that really catches Kurt’s eye. They are outlined by puzzle pieces, each obviously fitting with the other.

“You included the puzzle pieces,” Kurt breathes. He can hardly believe it--ever since Blaine had sung Teenage Dream to him while practicing his guitar, it had been one of the songs that made Kurt think of their relationship while he listened to it. It had been a big moment for him--it had pierced his heart, and he and Blaine had ended up making out for well over an hour before they’d even gotten out of their clothes, unable to pull away from each other.

“I liked the idea,” Jo says. “I figured if you liked it, you liked it--if not, I could just erase that part and go with the rest.”

“No, it’s great,” Kurt says. He looks over at Blaine, suddenly filled with trepidation. “What do you think?”

Blaine looks over, and Kurt feels Blaine’s hand find his back, rubbing gently up and down over the curve of it.

“I love it,” he whispers, pressing his nose into Kurt’s cheek gently.

“So...let’s do it,” Kurt says. “Black and white? Or should I do color?”

“I like black and white just fine,” Blaine agrees, and grabs Kurt’s hand to follow Jo into the back.

\--

Kurt lays back in the chair, tilted to the side, his shorts and tights pulled down around his ass, barely covering his cock. He’d blushed at first, but Blaine had just done it with him, giving him a dark look that Kurt well understood as meaning  mine and also  later . It had been strengthened when he’d felt Blaine half-hard against him as they’d stood pressed tightly against each other to let Jo shave them with a single-blade razor like a  heathen and then line up the guides. They’d parted with smirks in each other’s directions, and a direction to Blaine to take the chair first.

“Wait--” Kurt had protested haltingly. “Can--can I go first? I think I’ll feel better if I don’t know what’s coming.”

Blaine had agreed and let Kurt take his place, and now here he is. 

“What’s it going to feel like?” Kurt asks nervously, when Jo finishes showing him the sterile equipment and dons her gloves, everything lined up and ready to go.

“It’s like...irritating?” Blaine says unsurely. “That’s what mine felt like, anyway. It hurts, but it’s not too bad. It just takes a while.”

“How long?”

“This one? Maybe an hour and a half,” Jo says. “It’s not too big, it’s just the details that’ll be hard. I’ll need you to be really, really still so I can get the shading right, but I’ll let you know when that comes. Stay still anyway, though--no one likes a wiggly line.”

“Okay,” Kurt says. He takes a deep breath, and squeezes Blaine’s hand in his own. “I’m ready.”

There’s a loud buzz, and then Kurt fights the urge to jump. Blaine’s right, it  hurts . It’s not the worst he’s felt, but it’s constant, almost like he’s continually being scraped against pavement. Like someone’s taking a sandpaper grinder to his skin. It’s...a burn, but sharper, shallow, more focused.

“Ow,” he says as calmly as he can.

“Just breathe,” Blaine says. “And don’t watch. Look at me.”

Kurt does, focusing on Blaine’s eyes, and while it continues to hurt, after a few minutes it becomes sort of...background. He breathes. After quite a while, Kurt starts to crave a cigarette. He thinks it would make him feel better, though he knows that it wouldn’t, really.

“Can--can we take a break?” he asks tentatively, and the machine stops for a second and he feels his skin being pulled, or wiped.

“Can you last a few more minutes?” Jo asks. “I’m almost done with the outline, and I’d like to get that done while I’m on it. You can take a break before the shading, though.”

“Okay,” Kurt replies. “I can do that.”

She resumes, and true to her word it’s just a couple more minutes of staring at Blaine before she stops.

“Okay, you go out and take a break,” she says, wiping it down. “You cannot pull up your pants, though. So don’t go too far unless you want people to see your crack. Don’t touch it. I’ll be here switching needleheads if you need me.”

“Needleheads?” Kurt asks, as he shuffles out with Blaine behind him, covering his half-bared ass.

“Shading uses more needles at once,” he says. “The outline just took one needle. It feels different--more spread out.”

“That’ll help, right?” Kurt asks. “Like...less focused?”

“Yeah, it does,” Blaine says. “You want a smoke, babe?”

“Please.”

Luckily, the parking lot really is abandoned--it’s starting to rain out, and it’s not a busy part of town anyway. They stand under the edge of the roof and smoke quickly, passing one cigarette back and forth and blowing the smoke playfully at each other and lying about how many puffs the other took before they passed. They laugh and Blaine smacks Kurt’s ass more than once before he pulls him back inside.

“Okay,” Jo says, when they reappear. “Sit your ass down, I’m sick of looking at it.”

Kurt scrunches his nose at her and lies back down, settling and focusing on Blaine before he even hears the machine. It is more spread out now, more of an irritation than pain, and he can see Jo’s arm moving in circles out of the corner of his eye. He really hopes it looks okay, after this trouble--and honestly, if he’d had any idea it hurt this much, he might not have gone for it, but...too late now.

“You’re almost done,” Blaine says soothingly when Kurt bites his lip, tired of the feeling and just wanting it to be done already. He feels a little light-headed despite his breathing matching up to Blaine’s, and he’s about to ask for another break when the machine stops.

“All done,” Jo says. She picks up a little squirt bottle and rinses Kurt off, catching the water on a paper towel before patting him dry with another. “Take a look, let me know what you think before I put on the ointment.”

She hands Kurt a mirror for a better angle, and he gasps.

“It’s exactly what I wanted,” Kurt says, and he realizes it’s true--and he hadn’t even known it until it had appeared before him, first in his mind, then on paper, and now on his skin, his forever.

“Awesome,” Jo says, grinning. She wipes some ointment on his skin, and then slaps a pad over it and tapes it on. “Keep that on and don’t fuck it up for at least an hour, then let the thing breathe. I should be done with Blaine pretty quickly, I don’t have to do little details like on the chains. Just the shading on the flowers, but that’s small, he’ll take just about an hour anyway. So you two can go home and you can walk around naked or whatever, I bet Blaine would love that.”

“I would indeed,” Blaine says, shoving his own pants further down and settling back. Kurt takes his hand and watches as Jo starts.

“Oh my god,” he blurts after a moment. “That’s blood. Did I bleed that much?”

“You bled more,” Blaine says after a casual glance. “Don’t worry, it’s normal.”

It’s amazing, though, watching the tattoo form under the very top of Blaine’s V, on the side of his hipbone. It coalesces beneath ink smears and blood and stands stark against Blaine’s skin, and Kurt forgets the ache of his own as he stares.

“Cigarette break?” Jo asks before shading. Blaine shakes his head, and she continues.

It’s even more beautiful on Blaine, when it’s done. Kurt’s sorry to see it go beneath the ointment and pad.

“Got your instructions?” Jo says, out at the counter. They sign their paperwork, pay, and head out with profuse thanks, clutching the sheet with the care instructions. Kurt reads it over closely as Blaine takes the wheel, driving them away.

“Just one more plan for today,” Blaine says, “but we don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. It was just...an idea.”

“I’ve already smoked and ridden a bike and permanently decorated my skin, what could be worse than that?” Kurt asks wryly.

Blaine chuckles.

“I got Quinn to visit Sandy Ryerson for me.”

Kurt blanches.

“Don’t tell me we’re making a sex tape.”

Blaine bursts out laughing, and it’s that reaction that calms Kurt and sends a relieved giggle through him. Blaine would never react that way if he knew Sandy, though.

“No, I just got some pot,” he says. “Like I said, we don’t have to--”

“You’re in charge,” Kurt interrupts. “If I have a problem, I’ll let you know, okay? I can...I can at least try it. If I don’t like it, at least it doesn’t last forever.”

Kurt’s never been around Blaine when he smokes, but he has been around him right after and through his high. But until Blaine had mentioned buying it specifically for Kurt, he’d never thought of trying it himself. It always seemed so... dirty to him. A habit he allowed Blaine because it didn’t end up with him sprawled on the couch covered in bright orange processed cheese powder at all hours. And he never smelled as bad as Brett, either.

When they get back to the apartment, Kurt kicks off his boots, peels his shorts and tights off, and removes the hooded suspenders, leaving him in his tight black boxer briefs and his tshirt. He heads into the bathroom and peels off the tape and the pad, revealing his tattoo, surrounded by tender red skin.

“Looks good,” Blaine says, removing his own clothes, down to his own boxers and soft henley. Kurt smiles at him through the door before turning back and looking at his reflection.

It had been a good day off. He hasn’t had his mind off of things like this in a long time, and never for so long. The only problem is that it doesn’t look like  him in the mirror. He just wishes there was a way to combine the two, to make a better version of him from the good of the old and this new experiment.

He removes the magnetic gauges and the fake lip ring, but before he can start to wash out the green in his hair, he takes another look. It actually looks really good--maybe, if it weren’t such a big area, he could actually wear this on a fairly regular basis. Different colors, of course, to go with his outfits, but a little streak on the front might not be bad. It could be a statement--maybe one day he’ll have a fashion line, and all his models will have a matching streak in their hair--

“Hey.”

Blaine is behind him, wrapping his arms around Kurt’s waist and laying his chin on Kurt’s shoulder, mirroring their position from the beginning of the day.

“Hi, you.”

“You’re thinking too hard, I can tell.”

Kurt smiles ruefully.

“You’re probably right.”

“Come on,” Blaine says. “I’ve got everything set up. You can take your mind off a little longer, okay?”

He starts pulling Kurt into the bedroom, but Kurt doesn’t let the conversation end.

“You know, I wasn’t thinking anything  bad ,” he informs Blaine. “I was actually making some really good plans--”

“Plans?” Blaine raises an eyebrow at him, his lips twisted in a mocking smirk. “I thought you were being a delinquent today. Delinquents don’t make plans.”

“No, they live in a constant state of impulsive hedonism,” Kurt says, giving Blaine the look right back. “Come on, let me have the last of it so I can go back to driving myself crazy.”

\--

They sit next to each other on the floor next to the bed. Kurt keeps looking down at his tattoo, snapping his attention back to Blaine as often as he starts explaining something new about how to work the bowl he’s holding up for demonstration, a little silly thing shaped like a turtle that Kurt will have to smoke through its “tail,” which lengthens up into a mouthpiece like a strange, glass version of an old tobacco pipe. 

“Where’s the carb?” Blaine asks, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“The turtle’s mouth. I’ve got it, Blaine, let’s just do this.”

Blaine shrugs and packs the bowl with some strong-smelling weed from a little packet. Kurt’s not sure if he likes the smell--it’s herbal, but very thick, a bit musky. He has bad memories of sitting next to Brett with a stale, unwashed version of that smell, so he’s not predisposed to like it like he is the cigarette smoke, but he trusts Blaine about it, and he’s willing to try this to finish off his day of experience.

Blaine takes the first hit, making sure Kurt watches so he’ll get a demonstration. He holds his breath after taking it, holding his lips tight, and Kurt thinks it’s adorable, the way they purse a bit, his throat twitching with the effort. Finally, he lets out a long, white cloud of smoke, and clears his throat a bit before handing the bowl and the lighter over.

“Take it easy,” Blaine says. “It’s really easy to cough with this. If you start to feel the urge to, try to hold it off so you can just get a drink of water, or you can end up coughing your lungs up.”

Kurt takes it and takes a deep breath of real air before he goes in, putting his mouth over the piece before flicking the lighter and lighting the pot. He draws the smoke into his mouth like he did with the cigarette smoke, letting off on the carb at the end, finally pulling it carefully into his lungs and handing the bowl and lighter back over. It doesn’t burn, but there’s a pressure and a tingle that aren’t unpleasant. He holds his breath for a few moments before he releases the smoke.

He does have the urge to cough, but it’s a tickle, so, like Blaine, he gently clears his throat. The urge grows, though.

“Drink some water,” Blaine says, picking up one of the glasses he’d set up. “That’s why they’re there.”

“I don’t know if I want to do that again,” Kurt says, already feeling a little light-headed from holding his breath like that. “But...am I going to feel anything?”

“Maybe a little,” Blaine shrugs. “I could always shotgun you.”

Kurt narrows his eyes.

“That sounds vaguely unpleasant.”

Blaine laughs, a silly little giggle that scrunches his face up beautifully.

“No, shotgunning is when I take a hit and I blow the smoke into your mouth so you can inhale it after me,” he explains. “It’s a little less intense than just taking a hit.”

“Okay, let’s try it,” Kurt agrees. “Shotgun me.”

Blaine giggles again, and Kurt joins him, unable to help himself. He likes Blaine like this, really--silly, carefree, giggly. Usually when he’s high he’s just lazy, his eyes hooded and an easy smile on his face. But this is...this is a  fun Blaine, in a different way than when he lets loose with Kurt and jumps around his room singing and joking about bad TV. Kurt wonders what doing that would be like high--

Blaine lifts the bowl up and gives Kurt a sweet look.

“When our lips touch, inhale,” he instructs, and then takes his hit.

After a long moment of holding the smoke, he leans forward. Kurt meets him halfway, matching Blaine’s slightly open mouth and pressing in softly. As soon as their lips brush, Blaine exhales loudly, and Kurt immediately inhales, pulling warm smoke into his lungs and holding it.

It’s not nearly as intense this time. Kurt half-wonders if he even managed to do it correctly until he breathes out and smoke leaves his lips.

“Oooooh,” he awes, and Blaine snorts, setting Kurt off into a peal of laughter. “Blaine, what--”

“I--no, you just--” Blaine laughs, his smile so wide that his eyes are almost shut. He looks unbelievably happy and stupid, and Kurt loves him so much his chest aches.

“Hold on,” Blaine grits out, coughing gently, rising and heading into the bathroom. Kurt looks after him, worrying muzzily until he peels the pad from his tattoo, inspecting it. “Looks good.”

He returns slowly, his walk just a little off balance. He sits heavily, stretching out languidly, more like the Blaine Kurt is used to when he’s high. But this time, Kurt thinks he’s getting high, too--he feels floaty, his eyes buzzing a little--a thought that makes him snicker a bit, when he imagines himself with eyes like bees, yellow and black and  weird , why did he think that--

“Here, let me try,” Kurt says, grabbing the bowl again and tossing off the weird thought of insectoid eyeballs. But this time, he swings over, straddling Blaine’s lap. He settles down close, feeling a bit sore with the stretch of the tattoo, careful not to press against Blaine’s own, which looks just as pink. But he does press in, their groins barely inches from brushing, and arousal tightens in him as he lifts the bowl and takes a hit.

The pressure, the tingle--it’s easier this time, and Kurt feels like a champion and so  cool that he holds the smoke almost as easily as Blaine. He smirks, and then leans in, lips just parted. Blaine leans in as well, looking just a tiny bit wrecked  already , because Kurt is a giggling  sex god , and oh shit, he has to exhale in a second--

Their lips meet, and Kurt presses in before exhaling into Blaine’s mouth. Blaine inhales, but Kurt keeps kissing him, slipping his tongue in as well. He barely notices when Blaine exhales through his nose, streaming smoke over their lips and tongues as they press and slide together, messy and open and strangely sensitive.

Kurt feels lost in his own body, like his mind is almost traveling between the different points of contact between him and Blaine. The brush of skin on skin is electrifying, and Kurt imagines little crackles of actual lightning between them, crackling over their skin, blue and white and sharp and too bright to properly see, quick and silent until the noise starts to drift from their lips.

“Bed,” Kurt says, standing up unsteadily and pulling Blaine up with him. “Want you to fuck me.”

Blaine groans and buries his face in Kurt’s neck.

“We shouldn’t,” he says. “I don’t want to hurt you, with your hip--”

Kurt steps back and holds Blaine’s gaze as he deliberately removes his tshirt and shimmies down his underwear, maintaining eye contact the entire time, a little blurry, but still intense, the energy building between them until Kurt thinks their collision will be as catastrophic and beautiful as to really create lightning, right there in Blaine’s bedroom, a storm between them that leaves them fragile and desperate for life in the wreckage, and everything else untouched.

He strolls to the bed and crawls up on it slowly, knowing that Blaine is watching his naked body twisting and moving and baring itself and hiding in turns. He settles down on his stomach, turning his head to look at Blaine lazily, his hips lifting off the bed tauntingly.

“Well?”

Blaine flies out of his remaining clothes faster than Kurt’s ever seen, and crawls up onto the bed himself, draping himself over Kurt gingerly, watching out for both of their tattoos.

“Like this?” Blaine asks, thrusting his erection against Kurt’s ass. Kurt arches his back and pushes back into it.

“Yes,” he moans, startling himself with how loud it is. Blaine chuckles and pats his ass playfully before leaning over and grabbing lube.

He opens Kurt easily. Kurt feels loose and relaxed, and every movement of Blaine’s fingers in him sparkles in his nerves. His head swims, and he loses time, awash in pleasure that feels like it’s traveling all over his body.

“Feels too good,” he whines. “Blaine, please--”

“Okay, baby,” Blaine says, sounding thready and breathless, but he stays steady as he pulls his fingers free and slicks himself, spreading Kurt’s cheeks just enough to slide all the way in before he nudges Kurt’s legs closed, straddling on either side of them and pressing his chest to Kurt’s back before grinding slowly.

It’s far too much. Blaine is touching him  everywhere , his arms wrapped around to trail his fingers over Kurt’s stomach and clutch at his chest, just over his heart. Kurt clutches at the bed with one hand and reaches back to scrabble at Blaine’s bare hip with the other, struggling to hold on when he feels like Blaine is filling him with something far more than just his cock.

It’s overwhelming. He doesn’t know how long Blaine just grinds into him, barely moving, just a flex of his strong back and ass and thighs, tensing and relaxing little by little, pressing against all of Kurt’s most sensitive places, his cock pressed right into the bed, held and cherished and cared for. His eyes prickle, feeling strained and heavy, and he could almost cry with it.

“I love you,” he gasps. “Blaine--love you, love you--”

“I love you, too,” Blaine whispers back, kissing over Kurt’s shoulders and neck, holding Kurt close, sweating and heated and heavy and fusing to Kurt’s skin and bones, fusing  into him-- “Love you so much, Kurt, more than anything.”

He pulls further back, thrusting in with a soft slap of skin, and Kurt grunts at the impact. His breathing picks up, and he can’t get enough air--it slips away from him every time Blaine slides home, cracking him open and letting all the light pour out.

He doesn’t realize he’s dry sobbing until Blaine hushes him soothingly, his own voice rising with moans he can’t hold back, increasingly fervent declarations of love vibrating into Kurt’s ears.

“Blaine--Blaine--” his voice is too loud, but he can’t quiet down, he’s finally letting out all the poison inside him, drawing it out through the connection of their bodies and pouring it out to be cleansed. And he doesn’t have to speak its truth--all he has to speak is his own. “Blaine, I need you. Need you so much--”

“Come,” Blaine begs. “Come, Kurt, need you to come--”

Kurt clenches tight, and something pours between them, like he’s feeling Blaine’s pleasure as well as his own, as though he can feel the cling and pressure of his own ass around his cock, like they’ve actually combined into one person, and it’s so  strange and perfect and god, he’s never felt like this--

He comes with an actual scream, something he’s never done, not even in their most intense fucks. He lets it all go, the doubts and the worry and the insecurity, and he lets Blaine hear what he does to Kurt, coming hard between the bed and his own stomach, jerking and slamming back into Blaine, his entire body shaking with it, milking everything he can from himself and from Blaine and from both of them at once. With a piercing cry, Blaine pounds into him, twice, three times more, spilling hard into him, calling his name like a plea.

Kurt doesn’t remember collapsing. He floats, and he’s not sure if it’s subspace or the pot, or maybe just himself, released for a few lingering moments as he comes down dreamily, stretching indolently as Blaine rises and rolls him over, off of the wet spot as he cleans him gently with a warm washcloth. When he’s finished, he pulls the top sheet from underneath Kurt, shoving it to the end of the bed before sliding into bed with Kurt, laying on top of him, straddling him mindfully, their tattoos lining up with a quick shift.

“You okay, beautiful?”

Kurt keeps his eyes shut, prolonging his perfect drift, running his hands over Blaine’s damp skin. He nods, smiling.

“Perfect.”

Blaine kisses him tenderly.

“Me, too.”

\--

It’s dark when Kurt wakes. He doesn’t remember going to sleep, but Blaine is twined around him, so he doesn’t particularly care. He doesn’t feel high anymore, but he’s still light, relaxed.

“You up?”

Blaine kisses his throat and leans up.

“How long was I out?” Kurt asks.

“Not long,” Blaine says. “Shower?”

Kurt nods, and soon they’re wrapped around each other underneath the spray. Kurt’s dye washed out easily, green rivulets running down to the drain.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, rinsing body wash from Blaine’s back, taking care of him for once. “Today was...incredible.”

“Are you saying you want to convert?” Blaine jokes, and Kurt laps his arm.

“No,” he says. “But I could take some pointers. Though...you could too.”

Blaine turns and raises an eyebrow.

“Like?”

“I’m not saying change your ways, silly,” he says. “But...I’m going to do my best to start being myself, at least a little bit. And that includes letting myself have a weird hair color for a day, or liking the smell of cigarettes. Or even giggling and having spectacular sex while under the influence of drugs, though I don’t think I’ll be doing it all that often. But maybe you could take some tips from me?”

“Kurt, what are you saying.”

Kurt kisses Blaine simply.

“Why don’t I have you spend a day as a goody-two shoes?” Kurt suggests happily, and Blaine rolls his eyes.

“How about I cut down on the cigarettes and start wearing a few things that I really like,” Blaine suggests. “You know I kind of like bowties. I’m sure I could find a way to wear them ironically.”

“I’ll do my best to help you combine your current style with your ideal style,” Kurt promises. “And we’ll get you some nicotine gum if we have to. If I’m feeling like I want a cigarette after having one and half, I can’t imagine how it must feel after smoking for years.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Blaine says, shutting off the water. “Now. We’re going to dry off, and then we have a few hours left in the day. Want to smoke the rest of the pot and eat a truly unhealthy amount of junk food and watch a bad movie?”

Kurt wasn’t going to do it again today, but seeing Blaine giggling again might just be the perfect end to his day, and the delightful weariness at the end of the high could send them right to sleep. So he smiles, and nods.

“I think I’d like that. But I pick the pizza toppings.”

**  
“Um, ** m ** aybe on the first one, _mayb_ e--” **


End file.
